The One I Left Behind
by BlackMage3
Summary: Lizzie and Gordo are all grown up, and they haven't seen each other in years. Until.....
1. Author's Note

Author's Note  
  
  
This story takes place about 14 years into the future. Lizzie and Gordo haven't spoken to each other in a VERY long time, and you will see why when you read on. The story is composed ENTIRELY of e-mails, from two students at NYU. One of which knows Gordo, the other who knows… 


	2. Director David Gordon

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of Lizzie McGuire. So stop calling me!  
  
  
To: farrisa@nyu.film.net  
From: morrisi@nyu.magazinedesign.net  
Date: 3-16-16 11:45 pm  
Subj: Director David Gordon  
  
  
Arwen,  
  
Am I the only one that thinks Mr. Gordon is a nutcase? I mean, granted, he is your teacher, and yes, he DID direct a simply wonderful film (how many director's first -and in his case, ONLY- film wins 3 different awards for best picture? I mean, really) but the guy is an obvious loon. Take today for example.  
  
It's Friday, right, and I have my sister's wedding in exactly 24 hours, so I am practically running to my car with Frank walking swiftly beside me. I am attempting to finish a story I began telling him in our last class about my mother's assistant. Is he listening? No. But I am at a point of self-awareness that I realize that it really doesn't matter.  
  
"So," I told my boyfriend, "Lizzie walks into the boardroom, wearing these pink fuzzy slippers. I guess she forgot to change her shoes."  
  
At that moment, from BEHIND a TREE appeared Mr. Gordon, with his trademark camera in his hand. I'm choosing to ignore how this sounds as if he's stalking me or something. As paranoid as I may be, even I know that that cannot be fact.  
  
"Isabelle," he began. I guess he got my name from you and I being best friends. I mean, you're his student, not me.  
  
I stared up at him expectantly because, really, I did have somewhere to be.  
  
"Did you say Lizzie?"  
  
Apparently pleased with the interruption, Frank said, "I'm going to run home and change. I'll meet you at your house in an hour and we'll head to the hotel for the rehearsal dinner."  
  
I nodded and he kissed my cheek, then I returned my attention to the teacher. "Yes, sir," I replied. "She's my mom's assistant."  
  
"I was just… I mean, I guess I was just hoping that it might be someone from my past, this Lizzie. Is it Lizzie… Craft?" Arwen, he positively SPIT out this last name, yet he stared down at me hopefully.  
  
"Sorry Mr. G," I answered, "I don't know her last name off the top of my head, but I can be fairly certain that's not it."  
  
I really was. Sorry, I mean. He may be insane, but the way his face fell, you'd have guessed I'd told him they weren't going to be showing the Academy Awards this year or something.   
  
He smiled sadly. "I'm sure there's more than one Elizabeth in the world that shortens her name to Lizzie."  
  
"I'll check with my mom about the name, and let you know if it IS Craft," I added.  
  
"Thanks." He sort of grinned, then. "And if you would, please remind Arwen about the projects that are due on Monday. She has a tendency to forget her homework."  
  
So I'm reminding you. Not that I think you actually "forget" these assignments, though.   
  
So, my friend, am I overanalyzing, or is the man losing it? I feel the need to point out, however, that he appeared from behind a TREE!  
  
Well, the wedding is tomorrow afternoon, so I think I'm going to head off to sleep. Besides, my mom keeps coming in here, the guest room at my sister's, pestering me with comments such as, "You know, dear, staring at the computer so long can make your eyes have dark circles."   
  
Until Monday,  
Isabelle  
  
P.S. I wasn't wrong about the name. It's McGuire. Lizzie McGuire.  
  
  
  
To: morrisi@nyu.magazinedesign.net  
From: farrisa@nyu.film.net  
Date: 3-17-16 7:07 pm  
Subj: Re: Director David Gordon  
  
  
Isabelle,  
  
Sorry, dear, but you're on your own. I cannot in all confidence say that we need to report Mr. Gordon to the school as being unstable. Okay, so there has been some evidence of less than human-like behavior. For example, the first day of classes.  
  
He was taking roll, and paused when he came to my name.   
  
"Arwen Farris?"  
  
I raised my hand in admittance to being that girl and he grinned. "Arwen, like from the Lord of the Rings?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"That's a wonderful trilogy. I must have read it 60 times when I was younger."   
  
Okay, now I am as interested in Lord of the Rings as the next gal. I even read it once, in an attempt to figure out what it was about this character that my parents liked so much that they named me after her. (An eleven princess. Go figure.) But 60 times?!?! Did the man not have a life?  
  
Despite his disinterest in the outside world as a youth, he's still the best teacher ever. He's young, and he has a kindness that is rarely found in teachers these days. I mean, the guy makes you WANT to do your homework. He expects you to, and when you don't, he is so surprised and so disappointed, that his face actually FALLS. I admire that kind of naivety in a person.  
  
And in case you are wondering, I DO forget my homework, thank you very much.   
  
In other news we might should consider committing ME.   
  
The subject of the aforementioned project is to take someone you know and make a video about them. Just follow them around for a day. So, you know, it wasn't exactly a biggie that I chose to do this project last minute. (Chose, forgot, whatever….)  
  
So I called Jake. He didn't mind-in fact, he was all about it, a large relief for me. So, gathering my gear (well, okay, camera) I headed over to his house and knocked.  
  
"Hey, Arwen, come on in." He stepped aside to allow me entry, and that was when I saw her. Julia. The irritating, know-it-all redhead with the really earsplitting laugh. You know. His OTHER friend.   
  
She was sitting on the couch, and smiled up at me as I approached. "Hi…Arwen… is it?"  
  
I grinted my teeth and forced a smile in return. "That's right. And Julia."  
  
"Yup."  
  
Jake interrupted. "So, you just start filming?"  
  
And that I did. I followed around my best guy friend, camera held tightly in my right hand, water in my left, fighting back this urge to choke stupid Julia within an inch of her life every time she reached over and tickled him.   
  
I pushed back my feelings for him long ago, back in high school. So why is something that feels suspiciously like jealous tugging at my heart?  
  
And why can't I forget the way his bright blue eyes held mine for just a beat when he opened the door.  
  
Find an asylum. I'll sign myself in.  
  
Until Then,  
Arwen 


	3. Letters

A/N Thanks to all the sweet reviews. I know it's been a long time nice I updated, but life got all up in the way. But now I am back.  
  
To: farrisa@nyu.film.net  
From: morrisi@nyu.magazinedesign.net  
Date: 3-23-16 3:15 pm  
Subj: Letters  
  
Arwen,  
  
Okay, so I wake up early to the sound of the telephone. It's my mom, practically screaming for help. "Please, Isabelle," she cries. "You've got to help me. My secretary is sick, and Lizzie and I are going to be out of the office all day today. Could you come and fill in until 5?" And I did because she's my mom, and she needs my help (and, besides, all my Friday classes were cancelled. SCORE!).   
  
So I am sitting at my mom's desk (since calls get sent straight to her, and bypass Lizzie) reading, and thinking occasionally about how I am going to learn my song by tomorrow for evening service when my eyes slide to Lizzie's office. 'She's not here,' I think to myself. 'And how much do we know about her, anyway? My mom hired her straight out of college, barely checking her references.'  
  
It is because of this logic that I find myself rummaging through Lizzie's papers in her desk.  
  
Okay, so it SOUNDS immoral. But what I found was so amazing, so genuinely shocking, that you are going to forgive me before you so much as move from your seat.   
  
It's in an elaborate envelope, an envelope that it, apparently, came in, with "Lizzie" printed simply on the front. Come on, now, tell me that you wouldn't have opened it too.  
  
Inside was a letter. I am typing it up, now, before I forget what it said:  
  
"Dear Lizzie,  
  
It's been so long. When I got your letter, all I could do was stare at it in disbelief. An invitation to the wedding of the only woman I've ever loved. I appreciate how you wrote me first, before I received the news from your family or someone else. It's nice to know that, after all these years, you have not forgotten.  
  
But I cannot be there for you.  
  
It's been 5 years now since we made the decision to go our separate ways, to finish school and see where life leads us. Five years since we made that heartfelt promise to call each other every day, write as often as possible, IM every time we saw each other on. Five years since life got in the way of a relationship that meant more to me than my own life.   
  
I'm laying here, alone in my apartment, silently waiting for someone to come in and tell me what a joke this is, that there is no way that you could ever love another man.  
  
But no one comes.  
  
I wish I could say that I knew this was coming. That a relationship like ours was too good to be true. That is was only a matter of time before we both awoke from the dream we had been living in. But that's simply not true. In my heart of hearts I always thought that it would be me, reaching out to lift your veil, me, placing that golden band on your finger, me rubbing your shoulders as you brought our first baby into the world. Me. But now it's going to be Ethan, doing all those things. And I wish I could just be your best friend again, back before my feelings for you threatened to suffocate me.   
  
I love you, Lizzie McGuire. In case there was ever an instance in your life when you were unsure, allow me to say it once more. I love you, Lizzie McGuire. And no matter where you are, how alone you feel, know that I am always with you. Always waiting for the phone to ring, always aching to hear you loving voice.  
  
-Me"  
  
Okay, so is that not the most romantic thing you've ever read? I mean, really! So, what do you think? Think she married the other guy? Or maybe she ran off with the "me" at the last minute. Well, probably not the latter, considering she's working here and is currently unmarried and, from what my mom says, not exactly burning up the dating scene.  
  
Well, I gotta go. E-mail me back as soon as you get this, since this day could not GET any more boring.  
  
Blue Collarfully Yours,  
Isabelle  
  
P.S. What's your deal? I've called you at home, like, 12 times. Even though I'm not supposed to tie up the phone line.  
  
To: morriss@nyu.magazinedesign.net  
From: farrisa@nyu.film.net  
Date: 3-24-16 4:15 p.m.  
Subj: Re: Letters  
  
First of all, YES, it was wrong to look through that poor woman's papers. And, YES, of course I forgive you on account of the letter you found. How surprisingly romantic.  
  
To be honest, though, considering the information I found out today, I cannot say I am surprised. It seems that the world around is collapsing, my friend, for all these older people have much more by way of romance than either of us.  
  
I was walking towards my car, finally going home for a weekend of relief when Mr. Gordon approached me (not from behind a tree, in case you're wondering) his eyes bright with concern.  
  
"Arwen, is there ANY way you could do me a favor this weekend?"  
  
I guess I must have been staring at him in a not entirely kind way, because he rushed ahead. "I just got a call saying my dad was in an accident and I really need to fly out to my hometown to look in on him. And I was wondering if you could stay in my apartment until I get back on Sunday morning. You know, water the plants, get the paper, that kind of thing."  
  
"Oh, geeze, Mr. Gordon, sure, of course. Is your dad going to be okay?"  
  
He nodded quickly. "Oh yeah, he'll be fine, but my mom really wants me to be there with her until he gets out of the hospital."  
  
With a few short instructions on how to care for his roses, and directions to the mentioned apartment he handed me the keys.  
  
"Thanks," he called over his shoulder, as he ran towards the teacher parking lot and, assumingly, his car.  
  
Isabelle, you wouldn't BELIEVE this place. It's like the inside of the Plaza. Who'd have guessed a man would have so many rooms for JUST HIM.  
  
Anyway, so I fed his roses and watered his plants, and was about to amuse myself with his huge selection of DVD's when I decided that I should send you an e-mail to let you know about my sudden change of plans. I found his office after about 10 minutes of searching, and had just gone to the university web site to check my e-mail when my eye caught sight of something tucked under several stacks of papers, as if it had been hidden there on purpose. As if the sight of it caused Mr. G pain. And, after withdrawing it, I could see why.  
  
It was a picture, Isabelle, something that, if casually glanced at, would simply look like a class photo. But upon closer examination I blinked at what I saw. There was Mr. G! Well, he was younger, certainly, he must have been in about the 8th grade. And to his direct right was a girl in a pink shirt, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. I stared at it for probably a full minute, and right when I was about to return it to it's hiding place, my eyes zeroed in on another photo, one of him and the same girl, their arms wrapped around each other. This picture was much more recent and I dated it to, probably, his junior year of high school. I flipped it over and noticed the explanation:  
  
"Me and Lizzie."  
  
That was all. "Me and Lizzie." But the picture seemed to shout something along the lines of, "This is me and the girl I love. We belong together." There was something between them that I found moving.   
  
So I started searching through his home for albums and it wasn't long before I found them. My friend, never in my life have I seen so many pictures of one girl! Hundreds of them. From when they were babies to their graduation from high school, there are pictures that suit every event. Dances (with one picture of them dancing on a patio. What is THAT about????), graduations, class trips, family trips… They always seem to be together. Letters and cards, too, but they weren't too exciting.   
  
Anyway, I'm probably going to go through more of his stuff tonight, and I'll e-mail you again tomorrow.   
  
Until Then,  
Arwen 


	4. Another's Note Deux

Hey. Apparently, my story hasn't been to clear, so I am going to do my best to alter that.  
  
Gordo and Lizzie got together in high school, but when they graduated, they decided it would be easier for them to just be friends. But, as they went off to college (Lizzie staying in CA and Gordo going in Seattle) they never wrote or called or got in touch with each other. That is, until Lizzie got engaged to Ethan. She wrote to Gordo to let him know about the impending marriage, but he wrote back, saying that he could not support her, that he would not be there.   
  
David Gordon went on to direct one movie, and then, saying it wasn't personal enough for him, went to teach in NYC. One of his students was Arwen.  
  
Meanwhile, Lizzie couldn't marry Ethan after reading Gordo's letter to her, and SHE moved to NYC to become a business woman (and works with Isabelle's mom). She made her family promise not to tell Gordo where she lives, and Gordo did the same.  
  
So, both families know that Lizzie and Gordo live in the same city, yet they cannot tell them.  
  
And one more thing. Gordo doesn't know that Lizzie didn't marry Ethan, as both families were also sworn to secrecy about that.   
  
Okay, I think that covers it.  
  
Please. Read ahead. 


	5. I Saw Him Today

To: sanchezm@losvegas.net  
From: mcguiree@nyc.net  
Date: 3-24-16 8:23 p.m.  
Subj: I saw him today  
  
Miranda,  
  
For the last 8 years I have been imagining what it would be like if I heard from Gordo again. If I ever saw his face, or saw his handwriting on a letter. Would he be tender and kind, or would his face darken with anger upon catching my eye? Would his words be filled with regret or would he think that I got what I deserved (separation from him, the man that I love)? Would we make up and find hope together or part none the better?  
  
Today I found the answers to each question.  
  
I was supposed to be in meetings all day when my mother called. She needed me to come home. Mr. Gordon had been in an accident and, since Dad is in Washington on business, she wondered if I could go out there with her and accompany her on the hospital visits.   
  
And despite every reason I could think of not to go, there were two reasons for that prevailed:  
  
1) My mother needed me, and it's been years since I've been home.  
2) There was a tiny piece of me that ached for the opportunity to see Gordo once again.   
  
So I went, and the moment I stepped off the plane and into the arms of my mother, I knew that I had made the right decision.   
  
As we drove to the hospital, she asked me all the appropriate questions, steering clear of any and all related to love. I suspect she knows, or guesses, that my feelings for Gordo are as they always were.   
  
She didn't make me enter Mr. Gordon's room, I was pleased to note, as I situated myself in the waiting room, thumbing through a magazine.   
  
That is, until a shadow darkened the page.  
  
Guess who.  
  
I was so surprised, that all I could do was gawk, and think, 'His hair is still curly.' Yes, I am sure that if you saw the love of your life for the first time in years the first thought you would have would be of his hair.   
  
"Where's your husband?" he asked, snapping me quick out of my daze.   
  
Okay, I'm a freak. Because, despite the fact that I have been rehearsing forever how to explain about the Not-Really-Married thing, my abrupt reply was, "Not here."  
  
He nodded, still hovering over me.  
  
Finally I stood. After all these years we were still eye-to-eye. "I'm sorry about your dad." Although truer words had rarely been spoken, they sounded false to my ears.  
  
He nodded in reply and then said, "Is that why you're here?"  
  
"My mom needed me." Kinda like I need you. Only, I didn't say that part aloud.  
  
"She's been a good friend to my family. Both her and your dad."  
  
"She loves them like blood."  
  
"They feel the same way about your parents." He paused and then added, "And you."  
  
Oh, Miranda, the guilt that surged my heart. "I'm sorry," I whispered.  
  
"It's okay," he answered, his voice hoarse. "You made your choice."  
  
"No, I…. Look, Gordo…."  
  
He stared, waiting for me to finish.  
  
All I had to do was tell him the truth. About the almost-wedding, about my love for him… But I couldn't.   
  
"Gordo… I…. I was really impressed with your movie."  
  
His eyes flickered. How many times, I found myself wondering, did he ALMOST say the way he felt, back in middle school when his feelings were unrequited only to finish with something completely random and, frankly, stupid? He'd told me of several instances. So maybe he understood, maybe he got it, and I wouldn't HAVE to say it. Maybe he'd just know.  
  
I wasn't prepared for him to suddenly reach out, and pull me close, holding me so tight I forgot where I was. I wasn't prepared for the tears that were slipping unchecked down my cheek. And I wasn't prepared when he released me.   
  
"I've got to go," he murmured and walked away, towards his father's hospital room.  
  
And that was it. He didn't come back through and finally Mom returned and told me we could go. If he'd told them what had transpired between us, she gave no indication.  
  
And if she saw me swallow back the sobs threatening to submerge, she pretended not to.  
  
-Lizzie  
To: mcguiree@nyc.net  
From: sanchezm@losvegas.net  
Date: 3-25-16 9:59 a.m.  
Subj: Yep, you are nuts.  
  
Lizzie!  
  
All I've heard for the last, like, 8 years was how much you missed Gordo, how big a mistake you made, what you would give to just tell him the truth and be done with it. And now God, for whatever reason, has deemed your plight worth His consideration and all you can do is lie again?! You ARE crazy! Did it not occur to you that he might love you back?  
  
No, I guess not, as that is usually the case. Boy meets girl, girl loves boy, girl and boy break up, girl and boy still love each other, girl gets engaged to another boy, girl cannot marry other boy because of feelings for first boy, girl refuses to tell boy that she didn't marry other boy, girl refuses to tell lover boy where she is, girl sees boy at hospital, girl hugs boy, girl doesn't tell boy truth… Yep, Lizzie, your story could be a freaking nursery rhyme.   
  
LOL  
  
Look, the fact is, you either threaten to carve Mr. Gordon open with a fork if he doesn't tell you where to find Gordo, and you get your sorry butt (and I mean that rather literally) over to him and beg for forgiveness or SHUT UP!!!!! J/K!  
  
As for my life, it's been surprisingly calm. Jordan is getting on my nerves, and despite the fact that we have only been dating for two weeks, I am starting to feel my commitment issues resurface. He'll be gone by next week, I suspect, to make room for the new "Miranda's Man." There is an attractive doctor that lives next door to me, and I'm starting to feel the effects of a headache that just NEEDS to be treated. ;)  
  
You know that whatever you decide I am behind you 100 percent. As a great advice columnist I knew said, "Just follow your heart."  
  
~Miranda 


	6. Going Mad or The One I Left Behind

A/N HIYA!!!! Well, I know I said that this entire story would have all Arwen and Isabelle e-mails, but I realized that I can't tell the entire story that way. So I am incorporating some of the other characters in the story as well (like in chapter five that is all Lizzie and Miranda.) And BTW, I'd like to thank everyone for the generous reviews of my piece.  
  
*beats self* I just realized that I said that Gordo has roses but he lives in an APARTMENT. Well, for my sanity, we're going to say that HIS roses can grow in pots, okay? (And as for the other plants, I knew that they were like little house plants, so I don't have to change that….)  
To: mcguirem@la.net  
From: gordond@nyu.filmdepartment.net  
Date: 3-25-16 9:58 p.m.  
Subj: Going Mad or The One I Left Behind  
  
For the last 8 years I have been attempting to convince myself that the girl I had been longing for didn't exist. The Lizzie McGuire (Craft. Ugh!) I remembered was just a figment of my imagination, an illusion of the girl I had once known. It was my way of slowly moving on. After all, if I could believe that Lizzie had never been kind, or beautiful, or loving, or generous, or fun then I could believe that the feelings I am still carrying cannot be love. And I had been succeeding, sort of, thus far.  
  
Until I saw her at the hospital.  
  
I'm sure someone has filled you in, whether it be your sister or your mother or someone else, so I will spare you the details. Suffice it to say that the moment I laid my eyes on her after all these years, I knew that all the things I had been telling myself were in vain. I loved, ached, NEEDED Lizzie McGuire… Craft. And there she was, but a few feet away.  
  
Oops, sorry. I promised no details. But, Matt, seeing her there… I wanted to drop to my knees and BEG for her to leave Ethan. To marry me, to let me love her. To let me kiss away her pain. To let me… Okay, okay. I guess that's probably too much imagery for her brother. J  
  
I miss her. Even though it's only been 24 hours since I saw her, I MISS her. I miss the way her eyes twinkle when she's pleased. I miss her laughter… I always loved it when she laughed. WHY DID SHE CHOOSE HIM?! WHAT IS SO GREAT ABOUT ETHAN, ANYWAY?! *takes deep breath* Sorry. But it's so frustrating. I just… I'm meant to be with her.   
  
Okay, change of subject.  
  
How's L.A.? You don't have to thank me for getting you that part. You deserved it. It's so you.  
  
Call me crazy but at the hospital, I could have sworn she was going to tell me something. (Okay, I can't do it. If you don't want to hear my inner turmoil just delete this e-mail.) She got that look that I am so familiar with. The one I always got when I came close to telling her that I loved her, but chickened out. But that I can't be it. She's married now. And if I know Lizzie (and I think we can agree that I DO) she wouldn't do something like that to her husband.  
  
Maybe she's beginning to realize that she made a mistake?  
  
(Yes, I AM aware of just how incredibly pathetic I am sounding.)  
  
What would you do if you were in my shoes? Let me know.   
  
Gotta run,  
Gordo   
  
P.S. How's the little woman? Too bad that I never got to go to your wedding. I would have liked to see the marriage.  
To: gordond@nyu.filmdepartment.net  
From: mcguirem@la.net  
Date: 3-26-16 8:35 a.m.  
Subj: Someone gag me!  
  
G-  
  
First of all, AHH!!!! Who would want to hear all that about their SISTER, I ask you? No sane male, that's who! And NOT ME! Look, here's the deal. You TELL HER HOW YOU FEEL. The end, end of story. I mean, I am as sentimental as the next guy but how many times are we going to have this conversation or a variaion of it? May I remind you of the last TELEPHONE conversation we had?   
  
You: You think I should ask your parents for her phone number? I mean, just so I can see how she is?  
Me: You COULD ask Yours Truly.  
You: But I wouldn't want to get you in the middle. After all, if it doesn't work, I wouldn't want to hate you for the rest of our lives.   
Me: Uh… Thanks. And YES, get her number and call.   
You: But Ethan might get jealous.  
Me: He wouldn't get jealous if you called her. Trust me on this one.  
You: But he's her husband. If I were her husband, I would get jealous.  
Me: Yes, but you're crazy. And Ethan won't care.  
You: You call.  
Me: What?  
You: Matt, you call and pretend to be me and see what he says.  
Me: Um… That's a toughie, but NO.  
You: Why not?  
Me: Because. It's nuts. And what if she picks up?  
You: Hang up.  
Me: Newsflash, Direct-O, but I'm over 10. I don't call and hang up anymore. And I think she has caller I.D. anyway.  
You: Please?  
Me: No! YOU call. You're the one that's ga ga over her.  
You: I am not "ga ga." I just, you know, would like to make sure she is doing okay.  
Me: By acting like a stalker?  
You: So you DON'T think I should call her?  
  
AHHH!!!!! I can't take it. If you want to call, just do it. I would. I know that all your life people have told you that amid all the people you date when you're younger you are probably NOT going to find your soul mate. But you did. And so did I. Heck, I MARRIED mine. Anyway, the point is, I'll tell you the same thing I told you when you got the wedding invitation. If you want her, FIGHT for her. Even now, even though she's married… FIGHT for her. I can't really say much. It's up to Lizzie to tell you what's going on in her life. But I WILL say this. She misses you, her best friend, if for no other reason.   
  
As for L.A., it is great, and I STILL think I should thank you for the part one more time. So thanks. The director is great, really nice. He understands that I have never really had a lead in a movie before and he's been good about showing me the ropes. Melina has been amazing about this whole thing. Not once has she complained about the work schedule, but nevertheless I feel that I need to do something for her, so I've planned a just the two of us evening tomorrow that she isn't suspecting. How I love my wife.   
  
Heh, NOW who's being mushy?  
  
I heard from Miranda the other day. You haven't asked about her, but I know you're wondering. After all, before this mess with Lizzie, you were her best friend too. She's doing well. Met some guy. Well, with that girl, it's always some guy. J She asks about you a lot, but I can never figure out what to say. After all, you requested that all Gordo-info be kept between us. But she's worried about you, man. She said it's like you dropped off the face of the earth. I want to tell her you're okay, that you're teaching in NYC simply because of your love of people, that you live in this monstrous apartment, that you have roses that can grow in POTS… But because I am such a good friend to you, and because you hold my current job in your hands (*wink*) I shall say nothing.   
  
I know that you think she chose Lizzie and that's why you haven't spoken to her in so many years. I know you believe that because she knew Lizzie was dating Ethan and she didn't tell you, that she let you down. I know you wish you'd had some sort of warning so that when you got the letter you wouldn't have been so shocked. But forgive and forget. Relive and regret.  
  
Send my best to your parents, and tell your father he is in my prayers. Well, you all are.  
  
Completely,  
Matt 


	7. Okay, you ARE sure about that name, aren...

A/N Was in clear in the last Chapter that Matt knew that Lizzie did NOT marry Ethan? I hope so. Anyway, we're going to see how Arwen's and Isabelle's Saturday went.  
  
Also, I know I made this disclaimer for the LM characters at the beginning of the story. Well, I ALSO don't own "I Will Be There For You" by Jessica Andrews.  
  
To: morrisi@nyu.magazinedesign.net  
From: farrisa@nyu.film.net  
Date: 3-24-16 9:15 p.m.  
Subj: Okay, you ARE sure about that name, aren't ya?  
  
Isabelle,  
  
Okay, so remember how I said I would go through some more of Mr. Gordon's stuff? Well, I did, and you'll never guess what I found. A letter. Yes, I am as bad as you. Here's what it says:  
  
"Dear Gordo,  
  
For years I have longed to hear your voice, to see your face. I have spent hours watching the phone, inwardly begging for it to ring. And yet the silence that meets my ears is undeniable. So it should come as no real surprise that I must tell you, I can wait no longer.   
  
Wow. This is much harder than I'd previously guessed.   
  
I'm engaged, Gordo. To Ethan. If I told you that he's eaten some fruit that has caused his brain to absorb intelligence then I'd be lying. But he's sweet, and he listens, and most of all, he's here. And he loves me. As much as he can, he LOVES me.   
  
I'm sure you've noticed that I haven't mentioned my feelings for him.  
  
I wish I could say that I love him. I wish I could glance at him and feel something besides friendship. I wish that fierce feeling of true love was towards him, and not a curly haired, blue eyed guy that I cannot have.   
  
I thought once that we could make it. Despite everything we'd been through, that we live on difference sides of the US, despite everything, once college was through we would find our way back to each other. Funny how life gets in the way.   
  
I'm going to marry him. Ignoring the insistent crying of my heart, I am going to walk down the isle, and take his hand, and promise to respect, honor, and obey him, and love him with all my heart. Because I gave up on us a long time ago.   
  
Although, I was listening to the radio today, and I wanted you to read these lyrics.  
  
When I lost faith, you believed in me.  
  
When I stumbled, you were right there.  
  
For every act of love you've done,  
  
I owe you one.  
  
There were hard times, I know I survived.  
  
Just because you stayed by my side.  
  
With all I have, with all I am,  
  
I promise you, all my life,  
  
Whenever the road is too long,  
  
Whenever the wind is too strong,  
  
Wherever this journey may lead to,  
  
I will be there for you.  
  
Oh, I will be there for you.  
  
Through sorrow on the darkest night  
  
When there's heartache deep down inside,  
  
Just like prayer, you will be there.  
  
And I promise you all my life,  
  
Whenever the road is too long,  
  
Whenever the wind is too strong.  
  
Wherever this journey may lead to,  
  
I will be there for you.  
  
Oh, I will be there.  
  
Whenever the road is too long,  
  
Whenever the wind is too strong  
  
Wherever this journey may lead to,  
  
I will be there for you.  
  
Oh yes, I will be there for you.  
  
I'll always be there…  
  
Any time you want to know the inside of my heart, read those to yourself and feel secure in my love for you.   
  
I hope you are happy in "wherever this journey may lead to."  
  
I love you,  
Lizzie"  
  
Okay, so what do you think? I mean, aren't there just TOO many coincidences in these letters? I mean, two Lizzies, two Ethans… How many guys are there REALLY that are named "Ethan." The name is not THAT popular. And how many Elizabeths are there that shorten their name to "Lizzie?" But if it's possible that she is the one and the same girl that he's after, then wouldn't their family know that they're living in the same city and TELL them? It seems to me that this whole thing is too weird.  
  
PLEASE e-mail me back ASAP! I could really use your opinion.  
  
Impatiently,  
Arwen  
To: farrisa@nyu.film.net  
From: morrisi@nyu.magazinedesign.net  
Date: 3-25-13 2:15 A.M.  
Subj: What's in a name anyway?  
  
Okay, I am sure about the name. Absolutely and completely positive. So now, my friend, we have a rather confusing situation before us. I don't GET all this mess! I mean, every time I think I have a solution, a problem unfolds.  
  
Like, maybe the two Lizzies are one and the same. And maybe Ethan is Ethan CRAFT. But if so, WHERE is he? And maybe she didn't marry him after all, but then, why would Mr. G call her Lizzie Craft? (For that matter, she calls him 'Gordo' in her letter. Isn't his name David? Maybe a nickname off of Gordon…..?) I mean, if I was in love with someone, I would pay close attention to whether or not they married someone else.   
  
And then, of course, what are the odds that they'd both end up here in NYC? Like you said, wouldn't their families have clued them in?   
  
This is too confusing for me. I'm going to bed.   
  
Although… you said Mr. G went out of town because of his dad? Ironically, my mom said that Lizzie was unable to attend the meetings because of family trouble.  
  
Couldn't be, could it? Nah. I vote we leave it alone. We don't know what we're getting ourselves into.  
  
TTYL,  
Isabelle 


	8. Jake, last names, and why I believe in s...

A/N Okay, well, I think I have this figured out to end at 10 chapters. I hope those of you reading have enjoyed this piece as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Please R&R as I take all comments under consideration.  
  
Also, this chapter is a little longer than normal, just as a warning…  
To: morrisi@nyu.magazinedesign.net  
From: farrisa@nyu.film.net  
Date: 3-27-16 12:23 a.m.  
Subj: Jake, last names, and why I believe in soul mates.  
  
Isabelle,  
  
Mr. Gordon was back in class today (well, yesterday, since it's actually 12:00 a.m. TUESDAY morning) and he paid me $50 for my help. I was pleased.   
  
I did as we agreed and didn't mention a word about our discoveries. I figured you were probably right about the whole thing. There were just too many questions for us to be jumping to conclusions. I mean, the odds had to have been about 100,000,000 to 1.  
  
I was thinking this as I walked across the campus towards my dorm room. I was meeting Jake for dinner, and wanted to shower beforehand.   
  
Picture this, if you will: There I am, about to enter my building when my eye catches something in the distance. I blink, once, twice in shock. There is Jake, about 100 yards away, kissing Julia. I freeze. All I can do is watch, trying to ignore the painful knots my stomach is tying into. All these thoughts seem to fly through my mind at one time. He and I at our high school prom, he and I in my dorm room, laughing over the stupidity of round doughnuts, he and I promising that no matter what, we'd always be friends.   
  
All I could do was run. So I did. As fast and as far as I could go.   
  
I was halfway across the campus when I finally halted. I couldn't breathe, and the sobs erupting from my chest were no help. I collapsed on the near by bench and cried and cried and cried. Jealousy unlike anything I had experienced in my life poured through my blood. 'How could he,' I thought, which was ridiculous. He and I weren't dating, had never dated. He was just my best guy friend, oblivious to the fact that I was in love with him.   
  
"What's wrong?" asked a voice behind me.   
  
I turned and faced Mr. Gordon, who was staring down at me in sympathy.  
  
"Nothing," I choked out.   
  
He chuckled. "Somehow, I don't believe you." He took a seat beside me.  
  
And before I could stop myself, before I knew what was happening, the words were flying out my mouth.   
  
He listened intently and then, "You know you've got to tell him, right?"  
  
"See," I replied, "I'm thinking that I really DON'T."  
  
"He deserves to know."  
  
"He's with someone else."  
  
"He was KISSING someone else." Okay, obviously he wasn't following. Kissing was just as bad as being with.  
  
I stared at him, waiting for him to make his point.  
  
"Just because he was kissing someone else doesn't mean he wasn't thinking of you."  
  
I rolled eyes. "We've been friends our whole lives. He doesn't feel that way about me. It was an act of God that got us to the same university."  
  
He was silent, as though debating whether to reveal something to me. It was a full minute before he'd made his decision.   
  
"When I was, well, a LOT younger than you are, I fell for my best friend. Despite the fact that we'd been friends our whole lives. And I spent a full year torturing myself, wondering if she could ever feel the same way." His eyes clouded over, and I could tell that he was thinking about an event that must have taken place years ago. "Watching as she kissed over guys. I loved her so much. But she didn't know." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Until I told her." He returned his attention to me. "You know, it's really not that bad. The hardest part is waiting for their response."  
  
"What'd she say," I asked, figuring that I already knew the answer.   
  
He grinned. "She said she was mad about me. What did you think she said?"   
  
I smiled back. "Well, that's all well and good for you, but that's different."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Well…" And I couldn't come up with an answer.  
  
"I thought so." While he'd been sitting next to me he rose and gathered his books.  
  
"What were you doing here so late anyway?" I glanced at my watch. It was closing in on 10:00.  
  
"I guess I fell asleep at my desk," he responded sheepishly.   
  
"Ah."  
  
"And now I'm going home." He turned and began walking in the direction of the teacher parking lot.  
  
"Mr. Gordon!" I called.  
  
He glanced back at me.   
  
"Was this that Lizzie Craft that you mentioned to Isabelle? I mean, was Lizzie Craft the one you fell for?"  
  
"Well, yes," he replied, taking a step forward. "But back then she was Lizzie McGuire."  
  
I nodded and he left. For about an hour, I sat there, contemplating our conversation, Jake, and what I was going to do. Finally, with a smothered sigh, I returned to my building and entered my dorm room.  
  
There were 6 messages from Jake, each one more frantic than the last. For just a moment I felt a touch of guilt. After all, I DO love him, and it was pretty horrible to make him worry. But I couldn't shake the image of him and Julia so I ignored them and climbed into bed. A song was playing on the radio, but I couldn't focus on the words. Something was ticking at the back of my mind, but I couldn't figure it out. Inwardly shrugging, I resolved to call Jake in the morning to tell him I hadn't been in an accident. So I shut off my bedroom light, noting that it was 11:25. And it wasn't until I was half asleep, thinking about how I was going to tell Jake my feelings, with thoughts of my upcoming history test playing at the outer limits of my mind that I recalled a tidbit of my convo with Mr. Gordon.  
  
"Well yes. But back then she was Lizzie McGuire."  
  
McGuire.   
  
To say that I sat up straight in bed and leapt from it to the computer would be quite the understatement. So, NOW tell me it's just a coincidence.  
  
Arwen  
  
To: farrisa@nyu.film.net  
From: morrisi@nyu.magazinedesign.net  
Date: 3-27-16 8:25 a.m.  
Subj: Even the most knowledgeable of girls can be wrong.  
  
Okay, Arwen, here we go. You were right and I was wrong. Apparently she is the one and the same. But I still don't get why their families haven't clued them in. Other than that, I think I may have pieced all this together.   
  
Mr. G and Lizzie are best friends and then they start dating. Then they all drift apart and stuff. Time goes by, he becomes a famous filmmaker, and since she hasn't heard from him, Lizzie begins dating Ethan Craft someone that she likes, not loves. In a last ditch effort to end up with Mr. Right (who is, apparently, Mr. G, something I am still attempting to come to terms with.) she sends him a letter of her engagement before she tells anyone. I assume he is probably NOT living in NY at this point since that would mean that she knew were he lived, and would understand that she is currently living in the same city.) She probably hopes he'll go after her. To her surprise, all he does is write back, saying that he loves her and that he's there for her. They are both expecting the OTHER to make the first move. Neither does as her wedding approaches. Suddenly, probably on the day of her wedding, as is often the case, she realizes that she simply cannot marry Craft, and the wedding is canceled. Perhaps out of shame, or pride or whatever, she makes everyone promise to not say a word to Mr. G about the un-wedding. And then she moves to NYC where he has been living for, probably, about a year.  
  
I still don't get why their families haven't told them, or, really how Mr. G could NOT realize that she didn't marry the other guy, but hey. I still think I have given Hercule Poirot a run for his money.   
  
So now, of course, since we have this info, the question becomes, what are we going to do with it? I mean, we could tell one of them. I vote Mr. G, since he seemed all but desolate when I told him that Lizzie was not Lizzie Craft. Besides, Lizzie doesn't seem very good at handling this situation. After all, she knows she's not married, and what's she do? Nothing. Seems to me that if I was away from my soul mate, I would do everything possible to ensure that we ended up together. Ahh well. Not everyone can understand the human mind like yours truly.  
  
We could surprise them with some romantic rendezvous and then, when they saw each other it would be like BAM! And then, of course, they would be forced to name their first child after one of us, which would cause a problem since we both have such great names. Which one would they choose? Well, I guess they could use a combination of the two. Like Isabelle Arwen Gordon. A bit of a mouthful, don't ya think? But people would just call her Isabelle, or just Belle. I always wanted to be called Belle, but my parents weren't all about it.  
  
Or, of course, we could do nothing. It's your decision since you did the BIG detective work.  
  
Isabelle 


	9. Irony

A/N Okay, I have written this chapter over and over again in my mind, so I hope you like it. And BTW, this one, too, is longer than any previous chapter. Oh, and there will still be a chapter 10.  
  
To: morrisi@nyu.magazinedesign.net  
From: farrisa@nyu.film.net  
Date: 3-27-16 9:25 p.m.  
Subj: Irony.  
  
Isabelle,  
  
I spent all day debating what our choices were and how I wanted to follow through with our information. But every time I would decide on a course of action, my mind would automatically gather together EVERY single problem with that decision and I would change my answer. Funny how responsibility weighs on your mind. And it was also funny how I felt that it was my obligation to ensure this couple's happiness. As if the Lord Himself had shoved them into my path saying, "Here. I've got world hunger that I have to deal with. Could you take care of these two, please?"  
  
Which is exactly what I was thinking when I realized that I had left my coat at Mr. Gordon's house. (Okay, so it was YOUR coat. Do you want to focus on the minor details, or hear what happened???) With a sigh of self-irritation, I drove to his apartment after school.  
  
"Come in," he called, and I stepped inside, appreciating the smell of cooking onions and peppers. I didn't know what he was making, but man it smelled good.  
  
He blinked when he saw me. "Oh. Hi, Arwen."  
  
"Hey, Mr. Gordon. I think I left my coat here."  
  
He motioned to his hands that were caked with onion juice and seasoning. "Uh, I kind of shouldn't touch anything," he said, grinning. "Do you remember where you left it?" When I nodded, he added, "Then do you mind getting it? I wouldn't want to ruin YOUR coat." As he said this, his eyes twinkled, and I knew he was aware of who actually owned the thing.  
  
Smiling, I left the room and went into his office and grabbed the coat.   
  
Returning to the kitchen, and approaching the door to take my leave, I took another whiff of the food. "Thanks."  
  
He nodded. "No problem," he replied.   
  
I swallowed back the urge to ask if I could have a taste of whatever it was he was cooking.   
  
"I'll see you tomorrow," he continued, stirring something in a pot.  
  
I bid him goodbye and then reached for the handle. That's when it happened.  
  
The doorbell rang.  
  
I cocked an eyebrow at my teacher. "Expecting a hot date?"  
  
"Hardly." He turned his attention to the door. "Come in!"  
  
I took a step back to allow the person entry.  
  
And almost gasped in surprise when I saw who was standing there in front of me.   
  
In the kitchen, there was the sound of shattering glass and in spite of the situation unfolding before my eyes, I found myself thinking, 'Heh. I'm sure he can replace that.'  
  
She seemed to be hovering in the hallway, uncertain of what to do.   
  
Lizzie McGuire.  
  
"Hi…" she said, shifting her eyes from Mr. Gordon to me. I chanced a look back at him.  
  
If one hadn't heard the sound of breaking china just a moment ago, they would have no idea how shocked he was to see the woman standing there. His eyes were dark with anger his jaw clenched with resentment.  
  
He didn't bend over to pick up whatever it was he had broken. "Lizzie."   
  
I recognized that tone, and felt sorry for the girl. That was his, "I've caught you cheating and boy are you in trouble" voice.   
  
"Gordo." She wrung her hands nervously, and glanced at me.  
  
"I think I'll be going…" I said, my voice trailing away.  
  
"No," Mr. Gordon, interrupted, wiping off his hands (thank goodness!) with a dishrag and approaching us. Or, rather, her. "Whatever it is Lizzie wants to say, it certainly is not private. Plus, it's not exactly appropriate for me to be alone with a married woman."  
  
I winced, and moved back so that they were staring each other in the eye.  
  
"He's right," she admitted after a minute, smiling at me sympathetically. She must have had some idea of what was going through my mind at that moment. Something that felt suspiciously like fear.   
  
I was fearful for them.  
  
"What I have to say… I don't just want to tell him." Her lips quivered. "I want to tell the whole world."  
  
And it wasn't until this very moment that I realized the decision had been made for me.   
  
We weren't going to have to do a thing.  
  
He waited.  
  
Here it came. The moment of truth. She took in a deep breath, and I held mine. "Gordo… When we started dating, I was so unbelievably happy. You know, you made me happier than I'd have guessed was possible. It was great. To be in love with someone that loved me back, I mean. But it was almost immediate that these doubts started plaguing my mind. You were so smart. And I was… not. I got good enough grades and all, but there could no comparison. You left me, intelligence-wise, in the dust. But even then, it was okay. Because when we were together I didn't FEEL stupid. You wouldn't let me. It was one of those connection things. Despite my doubts, I knew my in heart that we were supposed to be together. And then it happened. You got accepted into that school. The one in Seattle. On a full scholarship. So far away. Don't get me wrong-I was proud of you. Incredibly proud. But then all those fears I'd been suppressing were suddenly very close to the surface. And I never said a word because I knew it would put a damper on your excitement, and above all else I wanted you, my Gordo, to be happy. So you left. And despite the fact that I'd promised to call I just couldn't. I pictured all the girls there, tons, as smart as you and prettier than me. So I resolved to let you go. You should know, Gordo, that a thousand times I reached for the phone, a thousand times I dialed your number and a thousand times I hung up before it rang. I was so afraid of hearing those heart-wrenching words: 'Sorry, Lizzie, but I've found someone else.' I figured it was better not knowing. That way I could imagine that you were out there, somewhere, aching for me the was I was aching for you. I heard about your movie, and you seemed content. Occasionally, I'd think about trying to get in touch with you, but I couldn't bring myself to disrupt your life."   
  
As she paused to take a breath, I looked over at my teacher. His eyes had softened and there was something in them that made me feel so sorry for him. Something that looked like regret.   
  
"Lizzie, I really appreciate you coming out here just to tell me all that," he said, "but I don't really see what good it does. You're still married."  
  
She bit her lower lip, and I was very aware of what was coming. Inwardly, I cheered her on.  
  
"Just listen. Anyway, so I started dating Ethan, someone I knew I was smarter than. And besides, he was very sweet and seemed to care about me a lot. It didn't really matter to me WHO I was with, since I couldn't be with you. When he asked me to marry him, I said sure, knowing that you were beyond my reach. But there was this part of me, Gordo, that held on. That couldn't truly let go of us. So I wrote that letter to you, inwardly begging for you to fly out there and tell me that you needed me. And I got your letter, and it was exactly what I wanted. But I still couldn't quite convince myself to go after you. I guess I wanted you to rescue me. Finally the big day came, and there I was in my wedding dress. I'd told my mom to watch for you, and when she said you weren't out there, I panicked. What was I doing? I didn't want to marry Ethan. I couldn't even picture kissing him without wishing it was you. So…" For whatever reason she stole a look at me, and I gave her a smile. She cleared her throat. "So, I got to the alter and turned to Ethan before the Preacher even said a word. 'Are you sure about this,' I asked him softly. I didn't want to hurt him, but how much happier about this could he be? He said no. And so… So we didn't get married. I'm not married, Gordo." She was crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks. "How I could? Did you really think I could marry anyone but you? As if there is anyone in the world that I could love even a percentage of how I love you. And I know that I've probably messed things up, and I know that you probably don't feel the same way about me anymore, but when I discovered that you were living here in New York I figured that it was a sign. That I had to tell you the truth." She hung her head as she added, "I'm so sorry for lying to you."   
  
The ball was now in his court. I swallowed back the words of encouragement rising in my throat. It was up to him.  
  
Slowly, he stepped forward. Reaching out with a trembling hand, he brushed away her tears. "I forgive you," he whispered.   
  
She raised her eyes to meet his. "You do?" she asked, so softly I almost couldn't hear her.  
  
"Yes."   
  
I watched silently, now unable to move even if I'd wanted to.  
  
He took a deep breath. "It's my fault too, you know," he began. "I should have noticed something was up when we were together but I was so glad that you loved me in return that I guess a part of me just didn't want to see any problems. I figured that if I ignored them then they weren't really there. And when I went off to college, I reverted back to how I was in middle school-uncertain of how you felt. You were so nice, I'd tell myself, that maybe you just felt sorry for me. I kept assuring myself that if you did care about me then you would call ME. And then when I heard about Ethan… I read the words. That you didn't love him. That you loved me. And yet I couldn't convince myself to go to the wedding and fight for the woman I love. I'm so sorry."  
  
She smiled through the tears welling up once more in her eyes. "I forgive you."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
And then FINALLY it happened. Each brushing their hands against each other's cheeks, they leaned in to each other and kissed. And kissed. And kissed. Moving quietly, I left his apartment, and said a quick prayer of thanks. Go them.  
  
Arwen  
  
To: mcguire@la.net  
From: gordond@nyu.filmdepartment.net  
Date: 3-27-16 10:25 p.m.  
Subj: Finding Lizzie  
  
Well, Matthew, I gotta know. How many hours did you spend debating whether or not to tell me that Lizzie and I were living in the same city? 6? 7? More? Well, it doesn't matter any longer because today we found each other.   
  
It was so odd. A student had come by (you know, the one I asked to house sit for me over the weekend) to pick up her friend's coat that she had left during her stay, when the doorbell rang. Did I expect it to be my soul mate? I think "No" is quite the understatement, but it'll do.  
  
Anyway, Lizzie came in and, to make a long story short, we talked. She told me about the almost-wedding, and we discussed our mutual fears that we'd acquired when we first began our relationship.   
  
And we kissed. At some point, Arwen slipped out, but I don't know when.   
  
And when broke apart, my Lizzie and I, we ate dinner together, for the first time in so many years.   
  
She left about an hour ago.   
  
Tomorrow we're both taking a day off of our prospective jobs to just spend time together. I have a question I need to ask her, but I think I'm pretty confident of what her answer will be. Wish me luck. Although, where Lizzie and I are concerned, I believe that it is clear we do not need it.   
  
After all, someone up there is watching out for us.  
  
Gordo 


	10. The Wedding or Epilogue

A/N Well, here you go folks, the LAST CHAPTER… Dum dum DUM! I am well aware that I spelled that last chapter title wrong, but I have since fixed it. I hope. Again, thanks for all the generous reviews. I hope that ya'll have enjoyed reading my story a percentage of how I enjoyed writing it. And I'll just tell you, Frank Divions is Isabelle's boyfriend who was mentioned in Chapter One. And I don't own the Lizzie McGuire characters, or the song sung in this chapter. OH! And I think I should warn you that this chapter deals mainly with Arwen and Isabelle and how the wedding effected THEM. I'm sorry, but I couldn't really think of anything else to add to Lizzie and Gordo.   
  
AND I am also aware that the end sucks, but I wanted to do a wedding chapter and have Arwen tell Jake her feelings, and I wanted to post it tonight.  
  
To: divionsf@nyu.journalism.net  
From: morrisi@nyu.magazinedesign.net  
Date: 8-15-16 11:58 p.m.  
Subj: The wedding.  
  
Frank,  
  
Wow, it totally sucks that you couldn't be in town for the wedding. But, I know, family reunions are very important and blah blah blah blah blah. ;)  
  
You wanted to 411 on the wedding, right? Well, here they are:  
  
Lizzie looked stunning in her wedding dress as she walked down the isle. Her eyes were so full of love that I found myself swallowing back tears. Beside me, Arwen was grinning like a fool, with Jake to her right. She still hasn't told him, but it's coming soon, I think.  
  
They said their vows, the run of the mill, will you take this man/woman, and before I knew it, they were kissing as husband and wife.   
  
Beside me, Arwen whispered something to Jake that I couldn't hear, and I watched him nod.  
  
Hmm.  
  
Swiftly, all the guests retreated to the reception area for the, you guessed it, reception. The best man (some guy named Matt) gave his toast, and then it was Arwen's turn. I still couldn't believe they asked her to do this, and I knew she'd been working on it for months, so I was inceditably interested in what she had to say.  
  
With a trembling hand she took her glass and held it.  
  
"You know, in all my life, I have known very few instances of true love," she began. "My parents, my grandparents-well, on my dad's side, anyway-and the two of you. I mean, I didn't even meet YOU (she stared at Lizzie at this point) until March. But the moment I saw him see you, despite the fact that he was covered in onion juice, I knew that this was one that would last. After all, you guys tie-dyed sheets together. What more is there to life?" A few guests chuckled. I, not getting the joke, joined in anyway. "I just… I think it's great." She raised her glass. "To the bride and groom. Proof that, no matter what, true love survives all things."  
  
"To the bride and groom," the rest of us repeated.  
  
Which was my cue to get to my feet and take center stage.   
  
It was so weird. I had performed in front of audiences before, yet I was still nervous as I reached for the mic.  
  
In the background soft music began and I began to sing the words.  
  
When I lost faith, you believed in me.  
  
When I stumbled, you were right there.  
  
For every act of love you've done,  
  
I owe you one.  
  
There were hard times, I know I survived.  
  
Just because you stayed by my side.  
  
With all I have, with all I am,  
  
I promise you, all my life,  
  
Whenever the road is too long,  
  
Whenever the wind is too strong,  
  
Wherever this journey may lead to,  
  
I will be there for you.  
  
Oh, I will be there for you.  
  
Through sorrow on the darkest night  
  
When there's heartache deep down inside,  
  
Just like prayer, you will be there.  
  
And I promise you all my life,  
  
Whenever the road is too long,  
  
Whenever the wind is too strong.  
  
Wherever this journey may lead to,  
  
I will be there for you.  
  
Oh, I will be there.  
  
Whenever the road is too long,  
  
Whenever the wind is too strong  
  
Wherever this journey may lead to,  
  
I will be there for you.  
  
Oh yes, I will be there for you.  
  
I'll always be there…  
  
As I finished, I cracked open my eyes to see the bride and groom brushing their lips against each others and I couldn't held the feeling of euphoria that crept through my insides.   
  
Not too long after, they threw the bouquet and guess who caught it? Yours truly. *wink*  
  
And now I'm at home, still wired from the evening. Arwen said not to wait up for a call. That she'll e-mail me whenever she gets home. She wanted to take a side trip with Jake. *grin*   
  
Sending You My Love,  
Isabelle  
  
To: morrisi@nyu.magazinedesign.net  
From: farrisa@nyu.film.net  
Date: 8-16-16 2:38 a.m.  
Subj: Well, you know what I was doing, so here are the details.  
  
Isabelle,  
  
I saw the look you gave me as I requested to ride back to the university with Jake. I guess you know what the trip was for. And I'll assume you are interested in what happened.  
  
When we got in the car, he glanced at me. "Where did you want to go?"   
  
"Central Park."  
  
With a nod, he put the car into drive and we were on the way.  
  
Night had long since fallen, I noticed, as we got out of the car. Central Park wasn't exactly the safest place in the evening, but I didn't care. I had to do it, tonight, before I lost my nerve.   
  
I sat on a bench and he swiftly followed.  
  
"So…what's up?" he broached. My heartbeat quickened.  
  
"I just…" Say it, Farris! "Look, there's something I need to tell you, and I think it needs to be tonight." Go on. "Because if I don't say it soon, I'm not sure I'll be able to."  
  
He nodded, his silent way of saying, "Continue.  
  
Just remember to breathe… "I'm in love with you."  
  
Okay, not exactly how I wanted to put it. I had intended to feel him out first. To see what he thought before I went and blurted it out.  
  
Ahh well. At least there was no room for misconceptions.  
  
I waited, staring at my hands.  
  
And that was when he pulled me near and kissed me. Much the way I'd seen Mr. Gordon (ugh, Gordo. I still can't get used to that.) kiss Lizzie.  
  
Like it was something he'd been waiting his whole life for.  
  
And I kissed him back. With every pent up frustration I had been feeling, every pain I experienced. Every tear I had shed.  
  
And then he whispered, "I love you too."  
  
And only this time, I didn't wake up. Because it wasn't a dream.  
  
~Arwen 


End file.
